


Fate Up Against Your Will

by ohanotherday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Being an alpha's mate is difficult to say the least, Canon Death, Claiming, Eventual h/c, F/M, Genderswap, Girl!Stiles, Impregnation, Kidnapping, Knotting, Mating, Mentions of Abortion, Non Consensual, Pack Dynamics, Possible Werewolf Stockholm Syndrome, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohanotherday/pseuds/ohanotherday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter doesn't appreciate Derek trying to kill Peter and take over the pack, and decides to put Derek in his place by raping his chosen mate, girl!Stiles. Peter doesn't really know what Derek sees in Stiles but doesn't care as long as he can hurt Derek by claiming her as his. </p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/4407.html?thread=2627383#t2627383">this prompt</a> on Teen Wolf Kink Meme on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles lay in the back of her Jeep shivering. Peter had left her there, not even bothering with closing the back door before he drove off in his car. Stiles still felt his claws drag against her skin. Tears streaked her face and a sob fought its way out of her mouth. Suddenly she could no longer hold back her crying. Stiles curled her legs under and continued sobbing uncontrollably. It wasn’t like anyone was around to hear her—nobody had been around 15 minutes earlier to hear her screams either.

  


Fifteen minutes earlier, Peter had tried giving her the bite, telling her how excellent a werewolf she would be. When Stiles refused, Peter was most definitely not pleased. Stiles tried to inch away from Peter as he moved toward her.

  


“You know what I heard just now? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words ‘I don’t want.’ Stiles, you may believe you are telling me the truth, but you are lying to yourself.”

  


Stiles paused, unsure what to say to that, but a howl broke her out of her thoughts. For a very, very small moment, Stiles thought perhaps Scott or even Derek was nearby, but when she turned back to Peter, he didn’t look concerned at all.

  


“You would think that your mate would come find you by now, but he isn’t near here at all,” Peter leered.

  


“I’m sure my friends will find me.” Stiles gulped, but this time she knew she wouldn’t be called out for lying. Scott may have tried to kill her multiple times as a werewolf, but still, he never let her down when he had been a human. “They’ll be here.”

  


“But not your mate?” Peter tilted his head as if he was trying to answer the question as well.

  


“My what? I’m- my friends, well Scott, will be here.”

  


“But not Derek?”

  


“I thought we both agreed Derek is a little tied up right now?”

  


Between Peter’s attempt to turn her into a werewolf, calling her out on her lies, and now talking of mates as if there was an actual goddamn wolf pack roaming around, Stiles was more than a little flustered. She reached a hand up to her hair, hoping the loosening up of her ponytail would help her think. Maybe all the hairspray fumes were making her head feel too tight and interrupting her thought process. She winced when her hair caught on a bobby pin, but she panicked as soon as she opened her eyes. Peter had closed the distance between them, barely an inch in front of her. Stiles flailed backward in her attempt to move away, breaking one of her high heels in the process. Stiles yelped as Peter caught her by her upper arms, but rather than hoist her back up, he dragged her back toward his car. Stiles tried yanking free, but Peter’s grip remained firm.

  


“Please, please don’t kill me! Oh my god! Don’t put me in the trunk! I know your nurse is dead and so she’s no longer useful, but like, you said you were going to let me go!” Stiles tried to free her arms. “Can’t you just let me go?” Stiles begged, trying to get her heels to find some traction on the concrete floor. Stiles scanned the floor for her keys. Peter had dropped them once he distorted her metal keys, but she still had her pepper spray attached to it, so maybe—

  


“I’m not going to kill you. And you’re right. You’re so much more valuable alive. But you see, your mate thinks he can kill me. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  


Peter gripped Stiles’ hair, flinging her into the backseat. Stiles scrambled toward the other door, hoping to escape, but Peter pulled her back by her leg, causing Stiles to hit her head against the door. Stiles clutched her head as her vision became blurry, but panicked when she felt Peter’s hand slip under her dress. Lydia had prompted Stiles into purchasing the damn thing, calling it ‘cute and short enough to show off your legs, which really are your best feature.’ In the store, it seemed a good idea to make her lifelong crush happy by buying it, but now, with a creep running his hands between her legs, Stiles wished she had bought a dress with massive layers of tulle and ruffles and maybe even a good old fashioned metal chastity belt for good measure. It probably wouldn’t be able to stop major creeps with werewolf strength, but _fuck, no, no,_ fingers slipping beneath her underwear broke her out of her thoughts.

  


“Oh my god! Oh my god! No, no, no! This is so _not_ happening!”

  


Stiles turned onto her back and kicked upward, her knee connecting with Peter’s nose. Stiles heard his nose crunch and Peter reared backward, blood dripping from his face. Stiles kicked again, this time aiming her still intact high heel into his face. Peter roared and his face contorted, the bones resetting and healing. Stiles’ heart raced as his teeth momentarily elongated and reverted back to normal human teeth again. Before her heel connected with his face, Peter grabbed her by her ankles and twisted them until Stiles was forced to turn over onto her stomach unless she wanted broken bones. This time Peter held Stiles by her leg, preventing her from escaping while he shredded her underwear apart with his claws.

  


“You’re worse than your mate. Both of you are far too headstrong,” Peter informed Stiles as if he were merely commenting about the weather.

  


Stiles screamed, praying someone would hear and come help her. Peter forced Stiles’ legs apart, fitting himself between them, and she could hear the sound of a zipper.

  


“Really, Stiles, nobody can hear you. Nobody is coming to save you.”

  


Stiles felt his claws pin down her shoulders, forcing her to lay flat in the backseat. She continued struggling against him, but he managed to hold her down long enough to enter her.

  


“You’re such a fucking creep!” Stiles screamed out, gasping for air. Peter’s cock slowly inched inside of her and she suddenly realized the importance of lubricants. This was why all those Cosmo magazines discussed the importance of foreplay and using lubricants to ensure minimal friction. This was why all the fanfiction she read had paragraphs about using lube before sex. Of _fucking_  course this was her luck. Stiles’ body lurched forward in pain and tears welled up in her eyes. Stiles reached for the door handle once more. She tugged at the handle with one hand and shoved the door with the other, but Peter reached forward and slammed the door shut, grabbing Stiles’ wrists and pinning them down in front of her. Stiles cried as Peter pushed in and out of her, ignoring her protests. Peter’s grip on her wrists tightened, and she could feel the bruises starting to form. Peter paused while still inside her, and Stiles tried to squirm out of his grasp once more. Peter released her wrists to grab her shoulders again to stop her from escaping.

  


“It really would not be in your best interest to move right now.” Peter lowered his body onto hers, completely pressed up against her back, and placed his lips next to her ear. “I do not want to hurt you any more than necessary.” Peter pushed farther inside of Stiles and she felt what he was talking about.

  


“Oh my fucking god! What the fuck are you doing!?” Stiles cried out when his cock somehow started growing inside of her. Stiles couldn’t breathe. Her lungs refused to cooperate. Stiles tried to lift herself up, but Peter’s claws dragged along her collar bone as he held her down with his weight.

  


“Knotting you, Stiles. Claiming you. To teach your mate a lesson,” Peter gritted out.

  


“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Stiles screamed, tears streaking her face. Stiles tried lifting herself up again, but the pain inside her body made her want to cry. She felt like she was dying, being split in half from the inside and suffocated from the weight on top of her. Stiles tried to bite the leather upholstery between her teeth, unable to tolerate the pain. Lips pressed against Stiles’ forehead, and really, no, any sense of romanticism here was just unacceptable. Stiles buried her face into the upholstery, but she still felt Peter trailing kisses down her neck. Stiles felt Peter’s body spasm as he came and Stiles wanted to murder him for getting any ounce of pleasure out of raping her. As soon as Peter let go of Stiles’ body, she wanted to run away, but her legs refused to work.

  


“What the fuck?” Stiles gasped out, unsure why Peter felt any of that was necessary—why he decided raping her would teach anyone a fucking lesson.

  


“There, there, Stiles. If you had not been so resistant, perhaps I would not have been so rough. But look, I barely scratched you. Rest assured, you will not have to worry about becoming a werewolf like Lydia might.” Peter stroked Stiles’ arms as if to soothe, but she jerked away from his touch. “Stiles, your mate is getting far too many ideas. Hopefully this will remind him who the alpha is in this pack.”

  


Peter lifted Stiles up from the back of his car, cradling her as he opened the back of Stiles’ Jeep. Stiles stared at Peter as he placed her in the back of it. She wanted to shred him to pieces, tear out his heart, feed him to the dogs, tell him how much of a fucking asshole he is, but nothing came out of her mouth. Peter gave her a contemplating look before reaching for her lacrosse bag, his arm still tight around her shoulders. Stiles fumed when he took out one of her t-shirts and started cleaning off the blood running down her legs.

  


“Don’t worry. If you are right, one of your friends will be here soon.”

  


Peter smirked at her as he walked away to his car, and Stiles watched him drive out of sight. She still had no idea what lesson Peter was proving by raping her, but she was determined to teach him a lesson of her own.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Stiles moved to sit upright, wiping the tears away from her face. Before she dropped to the ground, she kicked off her broken high heels and exchanged them for the running shoes left in her lacrosse bag. This wasn’t how high school dances were supposed to go. Random guys weren’t supposed to be able to shred your high school crush apart in front of your eyes and then basically kidnap and rape you. No, but then again werewolves weren’t supposed to exist. Stiles just never imagined either would ever come after her.

 

Tears renewed momentarily as she jumped to the concrete. Stiles’ hands lingered over her lacrosse hoodie before finally grabbing it and pulling it over her head. The hoodie would hide the wounds on her shoulders and neck, but it probably wasn’t doing anything for the claw marks on her legs. Stiles tried to pull her dress down farther, hoping it would cover the marks on her thighs. She had to pause to regain her balance. The walk to the hospital was only a few blocks. She could do it. She had to.

 

Each step hurt, but eventually she found her way to the front of the hospital. Stiles watched doctors pass by her. If she stopped them, she would be forced to tell them exactly what happened, and she really did not want to explain it just yet. Well, she wanted to, but how do you tell someone that a homicidal, recently catatonic werewolf decided to rape you in order to teach someone else a lesson? Yeah, that wouldn’t make any sense. None of the nurses stopped her despite her appearance. Stiles tugged at her hair again. They were all probably used to seeing the sheriff’s daughter looking disheveled. Stiles walked faster, gripping her jacket closer and fighting back the tears at being overlooked and ignored. Scott’s mom would notice something’s wrong just by a single glance. Melissa McCall would easily figure it out without Stiles having to say anything. Stiles paused, trying to place where she might find her inside the hospital.

 

“What the hell happened, Stilinski?” Jackson somehow got in front of her, blocking her path. Stiles stared at him. She just wanted to see a doctor. A nurse would be perfectly acceptable, preferably one who answers to the name ‘Melissa McCall.’ Just someone who could make the pain go away, and Jackson was doing none of that when he shoved against her. He was nothing but a nuisance—the reason Lydia wandered outside of the dance and the reason Stiles followed her. If Lydia had merely decided to forget about Jackson, Peter would never have found the two girls so easily. Stiles moved away from Jackson and continued limping down the corridor. “Where are you going?”

 

Every fiber in her being urged her to continue with her hunt for Mrs. McCall or seek out Lydia, but instead “To find Scott” came out of her mouth. Stiles gripped her neck. Somehow the pieces of the Hale fire started clicking in her head—pieces of information nobody had ever discussed with her. Stiles wanted to question where this newfound knowledge came from, but instead she changed direction, walking back toward the nearest hospital exit. When Peter abandoned Stiles in the car garage, he planned to confront his pack, meaning where Scott and Derek would be, so would Peter. And Stiles really wanted to find him. This time, Lydia’s Molotov cocktail recipe would work.

 

“I’ll drive.” Jackson reached out, jerking Stiles back by her shoulder. Stiles quickly turned around, shoving Jackson as far away as possible.

 

“First off, you don’t need to have any physical contact with me. Second, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn’t make it okay. This is still your fault.” Stiles didn’t clarify to Jackson what was his fault exactly, but it felt good taking her anger out on someone, even if he was only indirectly responsible.

 

“I have a car and you don’t. Do you want my help or not?”

 

Stiles felt pain searing where Jackson had grabbed onto her shoulder. Biting back tears, Stiles looked toward Jackson. “Did you bring the Porsche?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jackson was close enough now that Stiles could smell the alcohol reeking off him. “Good, I’ll drive.” Stiles snatched the keys out of Jackson’s hands. “I’ve got a plan, and it doesn’t involve you driving us into a ditch.”

 

\---

 

For the third time this night, Stiles was faced with an unwelcome male presence when Chris Argent decided to block their path. As Argent shoved Jackson and Stiles into an empty operating room, Stiles began hyperventilating. Stiles heard the door shut and lock. Her one means of escape was barred, and Stiles felt her heart rate skyrocket. 

 

“Hey, freaking breathe, Stilinski.”

 

Stiles couldn’t lower her heart rate. She felt like her heart was trying to escape out of her body. All she wanted was to leave this room. Everything was too hot. _Much too hot_. Stiles could feel her body heating up, the sweat starting to form on her skin. Stiles clutched her jacket, wanting to take it off before realizing all the claw marks really wouldn’t bode well with the werewolf hunters in the room. There wasn’t enough oxygen, not enough for Stiles and Jackson and Chris Argent and his hunters. Stiles couldn’t breathe. The men in the room were taking up all the air.

 

“Stilinski?”

 

Stiles turned her head to see Jackson staring back at her, and Stiles slowly started calming herself down. Stiles internally berated herself for having a panic attack right in the middle of an interrogation. That’s not suspicious at all. Yep, not at all. Mr. Argent walked toward her, smug that Stiles and Jackson would give him the information he wanted.

 

“Are you nervous, Stiles?”

 

“I just don’t see where you think manhandling is going to get you,” Stiles spit out. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but flinging the sheriff’s daughter into a dark room won’t get you any preferential treatment in this town.”

 

Mr. Argent nodded, turning on the lights. He walked closer toward her, and Stiles gripped her collar. She really did not need to be on the Argent family’s hit list too. They went after Jackson for having a couple of claw marks in his neck. If they saw what Stiles’ neck and shoulders looked like, they would probably flip. Luckily, Argent maintained his distance, but Stiles refrained from moving her hand. “Stiles, we just don’t want werewolves running around killing people. Do you know what they do?”

 

Stiles rolled her eyes. She had a very clear idea what they tend to do. “Yeah, but Scott hasn’t done anything to warrant going after him!” Stiles paused. A new memory flashed before her of the Hale fire. _Arson_. Stiles tried to remember if she ever saw that in her father’s case files, but nothing came to mind. She seriously would have remembered that sort of discussion with her father, but still, information is information. And if she could convince Argent of it, then maybe she could find a way to stop Peter. “Derek said you have a code, right? I guess nobody ever breaks it.”

 

“Never.”

 

“What if someone does?”

 

Chris Argent stared at Stiles, irritation evident. “Who?”

 

The image of a woman’s face swam before her eyes. Stiles tried to place where she knew her, but only her name came to her. _Kate Argent_. Stiles rolled her eyes again. Chris Argent definitely wouldn’t believe her, and Stiles felt like she was losing her mind, but still… “Your sister.” Stiles saw the pain forming in Argent’s eyes. Clearly he believed in the possibility of his sister breaking their code. Stiles decided it was now or never to try to garner Chris Argent’s support. “Scott didn’t kill anybody. It’s the alpha that’s killing everyone. He’s the one you guys should go after,” Stiles reasoned. Stiles looked down, unsure if what she was about to say next would help or hurt Scott. “And I happen to know where the alpha will be.”

 

\---

 

Derek could smell Stiles’ blood in the air, but he could only sense the alpha’s presence along with Kate’s body bleeding inside the house. Walking closer toward Peter, Derek realized Peter had Stiles’ blood on him—Stiles’ blood mixed with Peter’s semen. Derek’s wolf took over, urging him to kill Peter. The wolf demanded Derek kill the man responsible for ripping apart Laura, kill the man responsible for claiming his rightful mate Stiles.

 

Derek shook his head. His wolf already took over, but Derek still tried to reason why Peter would claim her. Claiming a mate makes you stronger, but surely Stiles would not agree to being claimed by Peter. Of all people, she knew exactly how far removed Peter was from his humanity. Peter could not have told her all the facts about being a werewolf’s mate.

 

Stiles couldn’t have agreed. Suddenly it clicked. Of course she didn’t agree to it. Derek had mentioned Stiles the few times he saw Peter in the hospital—the few times he had begged him to wake up and help him find the monster killing people in Beacon Hills—so surely Peter knew that Derek wanted her as his mate, even if he didn’t want to claim her anytime soon. Derek had resisted from claiming her, reminding himself of her age, of her being barely anything more than a child—of being anything more than an immature sixteen year old girl. How Peter managed to ignore all that, Derek couldn’t fathom. Peter already thought it was acceptable killing his own niece for power. Derek lunged at Peter, ready to rip him apart. Peter shoved Derek away, fighting both Scott and Derek without even shifting into his alpha form.

 

“Derek, you can’t kill me. I have you, Scott, and a mate. I am stronger than all of you.” Derek jumped toward Peter again. This time Peter grabbed Derek’s neck. “Sorry about claiming her, but in time, she will be better suited as the alpha’s mate. You need to learn who is in control of this pack.” Peter’s grip on Derek tightened. “This will be a hard lesson you will have to learn.”

 

Peter threw Derek across the room, successfully knocking him out. Waking up from the concussion, Derek could hear Stiles’ voice outside, hear flames ignite, and for a moment, Derek thought the house had been set on fire again. Only this time, the fire would kill him as well. Derek lifted himself up. The wolf refused to let Derek die while Stiles and Peter were outside. It forced him to pull together his strength, to find his mate as his bones healed themselves.  Derek limped through the house, refusing to let Peter get away.

 

When Derek exited the house, he smelled Peter’s scent covering Stiles, could see the claw marks claiming her. Derek gritted his teeth. The smell of fear radiated from Stiles in waves. She couldn’t have consented to Peter’s claim, not if her erratic heartbeat and every single scent of pain, anger, and resentment permeating the air around her were any indication.

 

Derek ignored Scott’s pleas to kill the alpha. Derek had no idea if killing an alpha would actually cure the bite. It was just a myth, something he heard as a child. There was no proof of it ever working.

 

“Derek, if you do this, I’m dead. Her father, her family. What am I supposed to do?”

 

Derek closed his eyes. Scott was still too new of a werewolf if he couldn’t even sense the bond Peter had forced with Stiles. No, still concerned only about Allison at this point, despite Stiles being Scott's oldest friend. His wolf snarled to kill Peter, kill the man who ripped his sister in half and who claimed his mate.

 

“You’ve already decided,” Peter whispered. Derek tried to resist, tried to ignore the pain he felt from being betrayed by his uncle twice. “I can smell it on you,” Peter sneered. Derek’s wolf reared up again, and his claws came out to slice Peter’s throat. Derek felt the weak bond between Peter and Scott break. As the light left Peter’s eyes, Stiles’ breath hitched. Anger coursed through Derek’s body as he stood up. The bond between her and Peter did not change. She was still Peter’s mate.

 

Derek avoided looking at Stiles, instead turning to face Scott. “I’m the alpha now,” Derek growled out, forcing his gaze away from Stiles, unsure how his wolf would react to seeing his mate claimed by another.

 

\---

 

Briefly Stiles felt a sense of Karma righting itself within the universe when Derek slit Peter's neck. Despite being an incredibly horrible wish, that was exactly what she wanted—Peter dead. But after a few seconds, the constant pain shooting through her body doubled. Stiles groaned, crumbling to the forest floor. Scott and Derek both looked toward Stiles, but neither made any motion to move toward her. Stiles couldn't breathe again. The oxygen was being sucked out, and that was impossible. This is the forest. With trees. And trees are supposed to make oxygen. Stiles felt Jackson's hands on her arm.

 

"Stilinski, what the hell?"

 

"No, go away," Stiles gasped out. Stiles couldn’t make sense of what was happening. It felt nothing like a panic attack. Her body felt like it was constricting. Stiles wanted to puke, but nothing was coming out.

 

"Stiles, what's the matter?" Scott sat on his haunches next to Stiles.

 

Tears streaked her face. "He was right. Peter was right. Nobody came to help me."

 

"I'm right here." Scott reached for Stiles’ arms but she moved away.

 

 "No, no, don’t touch me."

 

Stiles shook her head and leaned into Jackson's grip. Scott didn't know what to do, but then he smelled the blood covering Stiles' body. “Stiles, what happened?"

 

"You didn't help me."

 

“Stiles, let's just take you to the hospital. Jackson will let us use his car. I'll go with you two."

 

The car ride was awkward. Initially Scott tried to herd Stiles into the backseat, but she just yelled, her hands lashing out at Scott’s face. When Allison finally broke away from her father in order to calm Stiles down, Jackson sat in the back seat while Scott realized he would have to drive them to the hospital. Scott tried to take inventory of the people in the car. Jackson looked distant while Stiles continued crying in the front seat.  Scott reclined Stiles’ seat into a lying position before closing her door and making his way to the driver’s side. Scott tried to ask Stiles what happened, but she refused to tell him anything. Instead she alternated between trying to inch away from them and sobbing into her jacket. Scott tried to figure out what happened, but all he could smell was Peter’s scent covering her. Scott gripped the steering wheel tighter. He had promised to keep his friends from getting hurt, but clearly he had failed.

 

Jackson didn’t know how to react to seeing one of his classmates hurting. All he could think about was how McCall was an idiot if even as a werewolf he couldn’t even protect his closest friends. Jackson looked at Stiles crying once more before shaking his head and looking out the window. When the car finally stopped at the hospital, Scott exited the vehicle and opened the passenger door to carry Stiles inside.

 

When Stiles’ sweater was removed, Stiles could hear the nurses asking her what happened, asking her if the same animal that attacked Lydia attacked her. When the nurses noticed the blood dripping down her legs, Stiles finally told the nurses she had been raped, and they paused their cleaning of the wounds on her upper body to properly examine the extent of damage done to her lower body. She would need stitches, they told her, but she merely nodded.

 

Once inside, Jackson thought everything would get better, but everything got worse. The sheriff was there, and while he had been upset over Lydia's attack, the sight of his own daughter covered in scratches and claw marks and being prepped to be operated on emitted a worse reaction. Jackson spotted the sheriff heading toward them down the corridor and he quickly moved away from Scott and headed back toward his car. He already had been interrogated once over what happened to Lydia. Scott could handle this on his own.

 

The sheriff shoved Scott into the wall when he found him pacing next to the room Stiles was currently in. “What happened? First Lydia came in bloody and torn up and now Stiles? What did this?”

 

For as long as Scott has been friends with Stiles, her father acted as a second father to him, never raising his voice or being harsh with him even when Stiles and Scott got in serious trouble. He tried to be stern, but he never truly showed any real rage. Scott ducked his eyes before looking back up. Derek definitely was going to kill him for saying this, but listening to his best friend crying nonstop in the car ride urged him to continue. "Peter Hale."

 

The sheriff huffed out a breath. “Scott, Peter Hale has been in a catatonic state for six years.”

 

"Well… he got better.”

 

The sheriff’s grip on Scott’s shoulders loosened and this time when he spoke, his voice came out softer. “Scott, is there something you have against the Hale family?”

 

Scott’s eyes widened momentarily. “No! I was confused in the school! I thought it was Derek trying to kill us because the guy looked like him, but it wasn’t. I was wrong! I saw Peter! That’s who I saw, and that’s who hurt Stiles.” Scott waited for Stiles’ father to argue, but instead arms enveloped him. Scott let Stiles’ father hug him, and if both of their eyes had started to water when they broke away, neither pointed it out.

 

Stiles’ father placed an arm on Scott’s shoulder before walking away. “Alright, Scott.” Scott watched the sheriff’s shoulders slump as he whispered to nobody in particular, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Stiles draped the hospital blanket around her. She had stayed in the hospital overnight and not once was she allowed to leave her room. She just wanted to walk around for a bit, but she worried too. The stitches might mess up, and Stiles really didn't want anyone else poking around down there. Stiles let out a huff of air right as Jackson walked in.

 

Jackson paused, taking a step backward. "Sorry, should I go?”

 

Stiles shrugged indifference. Stiles definitely did not expect Jackson of all people to wander into her hospital room, but her lack of company intrigued her.

 

"How's Lydia doing?"

 

Jackson lacked the easy confidence he carried around during school. For once he actually looked like a human being with feelings. "She wasn't healing at first, but now I think she’s getting better."

 

"That's good."

 

"Yeah…"

 

Stiles looked at the flowers Jackson awkwardly held. The bouquet of daisies hung limply in his hand. Stiles barely spoke to Lydia, but even she knew Lydia would need at least twelve dozen roses if Jackson ever wanted her to forgive him. A completely refurbished plantation house on the Southern coast might also work as well.

 

"You brought her flowers?” Stiles snorted. “Trying to make up for being a douchebag to her?"

 

Jackson rolled his eyes, but didn’t make eye contact with her. "And you," Jackson muttered.

 

Stiles sat up, annoyed that Jackson would throw insults at her. “What? I wasn’t the asshole who dumped her in front of the whole school,” Stiles snapped.

 

"Stilinski," Jackson let out a groan, "these are for you. I just-I thought you were just freaked out about Lydia that night. I didn't know... I wouldn't have shoved you if—"

 

"If you knew I’d been raped?" Stiles tilted her head. As much as she liked seeing Jackson grovel, he really could do better.

 

"Whatever. I'm sorry. I just wanted to say sorry."

 

Stiles let out a breath of air. "It's okay. It's not like it’s your fault, Jackson. Everything is fine. I’m fine." Jackson nodded his head but he continued pacing around the room. He seemed far out of his comfort zone."You’re acting really weird. If you want to leave, that’s fine. I’m supposed to finally go home tonight. Just waiting on my dad to pick me up.”

 

Jackson finally looked up at her."Yeah, fine, I’ve got something to do anyways." Stiles watched him place the bouquet on the table nearest her bed. Jackson was close enough now that she noticed he still wore his outfit from formal. Something in Stiles made her want to reach out and hug him, but Stiles didn’t move a muscle, reminding herself that ever since elementary school, Jackson made it very clear they weren’t friends.

 

When Stiles was by herself, she rearranged her blankets once more before finally drifting off to sleep. Stiles’ slept soundly until the light in her dreams slowly diminished, the darkness soothing until it was rapidly filled with fire. She tried running away from the flames, but claws held her down, digging into her flesh. Stiles screamed, waking up drenched in sweat. Realizing it was all a nightmare, Stiles heaved out a breath of air. The door to her room opened quickly, causing Stiles to panic for a moment before she noticed it was only her dad.

 

“Stiles, what’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing, nothing. Just a bad dream. No big deal.” Stiles sat up in her bed. “So, daddy-o, do I get to go home today?” Stiles grinned widely, but her father wasn’t fooled. He walked up to her bed, placing his hand on her forehead.

 

“Are you sure? I’m sure if you want to spend another night here, it’ll be alright. Just let me know.”

 

“Please, dad. I’ll be fine. I just want to go home now.”

 

Sheriff Stilinski slumped into the chair nearest her bed. He would do anything to protect his daughter, but he had failed. When he saw Stiles inside the hospital, tears pouring down her face, he wanted to carry her and console her like he had when she had fallen off the monkey bars years ago, but it wasn’t the same. She was older and the bruises she had now could not be ignored by a few hugs and the promise of ice cream.

 

When his officers located a deserted vehicle, he realized Scott was right in saying some lunatic had been killing off people. Being a cop for the last twenty years should have steeled his nerves, but he hadn’t been prepared to see the scene of his daughter’s rape. The back seat’s upholstery had been shredded as if someone dragged a knife through it, and his daughter’s blood was clearly there, mixed with Peter’s semen. The dead woman in the trunk shook the sheriff to his very core. If his officers had found Peter that same night, the sheriff would have murdered Peter himself. As it was, he had no idea where Peter might be. The possibility that Peter could find Stiles again worried him the most.

 

“Dad? You okay?”

 

The sheriff glanced at his daughter, her brown eyes far too sad. “Yeah, let me just sign the papers and we can go.” Stiles’ father retrieved the bag he had placed on the floor.  “I brought you some clothes.”

 

The sheriff left the room to fill out all the paperwork while Stiles tugged out a shirt from the bag and pulled it over her head.

 

\---

 

During the car ride home, the sheriff sat quietly, looking over at his daughter every couple of minutes. Finally Stiles turned her head toward him. "I'm not going anywhere, dad."

 

"I know, I'm just, I'm glad you're alright."

 

Stiles thought back about Lydia, about Kate, about the men Peter killed, about the family Kate killed. Stiles' father had every right to be thankful she was still alive, but it still made her heart hurt. Her father didn't need any more pain in his life. He suffered too much from her mother’s death. Tears started to blur Stiles' vision and she quickly batted them away with her eyelashes.

 

"I’m not going anywhere, dad. You, however, need to stop eating so much junk food." Stiles picked up a Burger King wrapper off the floor beneath her seat. "Is this what happens when I'm not here to supervise? You know this means we're going to have to have more family dinners.” Stiles tossed the wrapper toward the dashboard. “Sheesh, I'm not home for a couple of nights and your health just goes down the drain.” Stiles shook her head, pretending to be deeply affronted, but the sheriff laughed, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

\---

 

On Monday morning Stiles wondered if she would have to go to school. The gossip mill would probably be working overtime. Stiles tried to imagine what would be the most talked about subject. Lydia was still in a coma. Her wounds were healing but she still hadn't woken up, and as one of the socially elite, surely everyone would be talking about that. Then they might gossip about Allison’s deceased aunt who arranged the fire that killed the Hale family. Stiles wondered how Allison was coping with that. Allison had visited Stiles in the hospital, but both of them skirted around the subject of what happened after the formal. It was easier that way to just pretend nothing happened.

 

Stiles heard a knock on her bedroom door before her father gently opened it. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?”

 

"Uh, as good as can be expected at seven in the morning."

 

Her father chuckled. “Well, I just wanted to let you know, if you want to stay home from school, I can call you in sick. But you better have someone bring you your homework, understand?”

 

Stiles smiled. “Of course, dad. I'll text Scott.”

 

Stiles listened to her dad walk downstairs. His routine had been the same for as long as she could remember. First he would make coffee, next eat breakfast while reading the paper, and finally check that the back door was locked before leaving through the front door, locking it afterwards. Stiles tried to burrow into her blankets but she couldn't get comfortable. At night her dreams kept getting filled with images of Peter, causing her to barely sleep, but now she was wide awake.

 

Stiles sat in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when she heard the doorbell ring. Walking toward it, Stiles wondered who exactly could be at her house this early. Stiles opened the door, seeing Allison standing outside. Allison looked skittish but a smile lit up her features when she saw Stiles.

 

“Hey, I didn't see your Jeep in the parking lot, so well, I figured I'd come check up on you. Scott gave me the directions.”

 

Stiles rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile away as she opened the door for Allison to enter. "Well, Nurse Allison, step into my humble abode. I'm sure we can watch some television while you assess my well-being."

 

Allison walked in, waiting while Stiles closed and locked the door behind her. Stiles sat down on the couch in her living room, motioning for Allison to join her. Allison plopped down and sighed, closing her eyes. A few minutes passed while Stiles watched the television, not sure what to say.

 

"I know my aunt killed people and I should hate her, but I just couldn't handle it." Allison opened her eyes to look at Stiles. "I couldn't handle the gossip. I couldn’t handle listening to the things people said behind my back." Allison looked so much more tired than before. Stiles wasn't sure how close they were, but she decided now was the right time to hug Allison. It was awkward trying to find a suitable way to hug her while sitting down, but Stiles managed to scramble into Allison’s space. "I feel like such a baby." Allison brushed away a few tears. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. I should be consoling you. I came here to do that."

 

Stiles squeezed her harder. "Shut up," Stiles lightly scolded, “I'll be all better soon. You just lost an aunt. It’s not your fault she had a secret killing agenda.” Stiles continued hugging Allison. Truthfully, every time Stiles thought of Kate, she couldn’t help but think that she was just as horrible. Stiles wanted Peter dead, and she did her best to make sure he someone would kill him before the night was over. Stiles squeezed Allison tighter. Stiles felt safe, something that hadn't been the case during the last few days.

 

“Thanks.” Allison returned the hug before allowing Stiles to rearrange herself on the couch. Stiles turned to face the TV, but her head used Allison’s lap as a pillow.

 

"Scott is going to be so jealous," Stiles murmured before finally falling asleep.

 

Stiles woke up to the sound of rumbling. She couldn't understand why her pillow wasn't as fluffy as usual until she remembered that she had fallen asleep on Allison's legs. Stiles shifted and she heard her stomach rumble again. Stiles ran a hand over her stomach. "I'm starving," Stiles pouted.

 

Stiles heard Allison laugh and she sat up to argue with her. "Hey, I'm a growing teen. I need food."

 

"I know, but, gosh, did you know you talk in your sleep?"

 

Stiles tried to remember what she was dreaming about but nothing stuck. "Um, no?"

 

"You probably were dreaming about Lydia, but gosh, I didn't know you could get so detailed." Stiles blushed, unable to respond to that. Stiles looked at her surroundings, noticing that the sky outside had darkened considerably. Stiles immediately felt bad for sleeping on Allison basically the whole day.

 

"Sorry for keeping you here as my prisoner. Next time I fall asleep on your legs, I totally give you permission to knock me off."

 

"Don’t worry. This was nice. I got to skip school and got to keep my secret boyfriend's best friend company."

 

"Secretly dating him sounds tricky."

 

"Yeah. Apparently my dad doesn't think it's acceptable for werewolves to date their daughters, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him." Stiles nodded her head in agreement and Allison grabbed her purse off the floor. "My parents probably have the house staked out in case any werewolves decide to talk to me while I’m in here. They're paranoid."

 

Stiles opened her mouth to respond, but she made a mental note to send a fruit basket to the Argents. Being paranoid in Beacon Hills sounded like a perfectly acceptable lifestyle when werewolves roamed around it. As much as the Argents creeped her out, she did appreciate their level of protectiveness. It scared her, but still it was impressive. When Allison finally left, Stiles saw that Allison was right. A black SUV filled with a couple of hunters left as soon as she got in her car. Stiles debated if this made her a bad friend to Scott, but she couldn't deny that it seemed safer knowing someone was looking out for them. Her thoughts turned toward Lydia once more. She didn't know if she woke up yet, but she wanted to see her. _Needed_ to see her. Lydia had been her crush all throughout school, but this was different. Stiles needed to make sure Lydia was safe.

 

Stiles walked back upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to look at her reflection. Stiles pulled on the collar of her shirt to see how bad her shoulders looked. The claw marks were still there, but they seemed to be healing normally. No wolfy nonsense there. But still. Stiles looked at the bruises once more before letting the collar snap back in place. Stiles wanted to cover every single bruise up and pretend they were never there. Pretend nobody had ever hurt her like Peter had. If Stiles owned a parka, she would consider putting it on over all her outfits.  Stiles pulled her hair back into a ponytail, forgoing brushing it. She hadn’t brushed it all day, so might as well keep up the precedent. Looking at her sweatpants, Stiles figured those would be fine as well. Stiles went back downstairs, slipping her shoes on and grabbing her jacket, wallet, and spare keys before leaving. She paused as she opened the front door. Her bent keys sat on the foyer table. Stiles carefully removed the pepper spray from her old keychain and placed it on the new one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, the title is from the song "The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen.
> 
> Also, sorry for the lack of Derek in this chapter. He's probably terrorizing small woodland creatures while Stiles subconsciously builds Peter's pack in more ways than one.


End file.
